


Breaking Point

by untouchable



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballet AU, Canon Age Difference, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, References to The Nutcracker, ballet rivals, childhood crush, except not really, they both have a crush on each other but neither of them knows it because they're adorable IDIOTS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-12 17:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19233355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchable/pseuds/untouchable
Summary: Rey’s heard all the gossip. The chatter in the dressing rooms and the hushed whispers duringbarre, the sympathetic glances thecorps de balletsends her way during rehearsals when she practices herpas de deuxwith Ben for the upcoming show. All these rumors about a rivalry, as if they’re enemies at war or something.Here’s the thing—Rey doesn’tnotlike Ben Solo. That’s part of the problem, actually.





	1. Un

**Author's Note:**

> I've done almost fifteen years of ballet lessons. However, I haven't stepped foot in a dance studio in ages, plus I was obviously never a pro, so forgive me if I a get any terminology or facets of the ballet world incorrect. Enjoy!

Rey’s heard all the gossip. The chatter in the dressing rooms and the hushed whispers during  _ barre _ , the sympathetic glances the  _ corps de ballet  _ sends her way during rehearsals when she practices her  _ pas de deux _ with Ben for the upcoming show. All these rumors about a rivalry, as if they’re enemies at war or something.

Here’s the thing — Rey doesn’t  _ not _ like Ben Solo. That’s part of the problem, actually. 

Here’s the other thing, probably the root of all the gossip —he clearly can’t stand her. Ben’s always critiquing her movements for no reason, always tensing up when choreography forces them to touch,  always avoiding her at all costs like she has some sort of contagious disease. 

It doesn’t bother her. Okay, it  _ kind of _ bothers her, but there’s also the fact that he gives her these  _ looks  _ sometimes,  when he thinks she isn’t watching, when he thinks no one is watching — these long and lingering looks, like he’s curious, maybe, but there’s also this heaviness to his gaze, a certain amount of heat. Which is probably just hatred, Rey tells herself. Because he does seem to. Hate her, that is. 

But still, it’s majorly confusing. And a little nerve-wracking. Because in the six months since she’s been dancing  for the Skywalker Ballet Company, Rey’s been nothing but polite to Ben. Completely professional. He can’t possibly have guessed she’s had a crazy crush on him since she saw him dance in The Nutcracker when she was twelve...b ut maybe he has? Maybe that’s why he’s so weird around her? Has she been acting like a stalker fan-girl around the  _ premier danseur _ and not even realized it? Rey doesn’t think so, but why else would he dislike her so much?

Rey’s jolted out of her thoughts as she tilts off-balance, having lost track of her spotting in a turn sequence, and falls out of her _ pirouette _ . Her hip slams against the floor. The music screeches to a halt.

As she stares up at the ceiling, a dark shape blocks out the harsh studio lights. Her vision is filled with Ben, the corner of his mouth turned down into a frown, the edges of his hair lined by the brightness from above. 

“You weren’t spotting — ”

“I know,” Rey snaps, glaring at him as she stands. 

God, can’t he leave her alone for one second? She’d been thinking about him when she’d taken that tumble, so really it’s _ his _ fault. At the moment, everything is his fault, as far as Rey is concerned. She can’t concentrate around him. He’s distracting! Him and his big, strong arms…

“Rey?” Leia calls her name from the front of the room. She’s standing with her twin by the large floor-to-ceiling mirrors, looking regal and every bit the former prima ballerina. In comparison, Luke looks bleary-eyed and disgruntled, like he would much rather be in bed instead of overseeing an early morning rehearsal, yet Rey and everyone else in the room knows that in his prime he was one of the best male dancers of his generation.

Ballet legends, the Skywalkers are. 

With Leia and Luke staring at her from the front of the studio, with Ben frowning at her from the side, Rey, a complete and utter nobody, who was only able to train in ballet because of scholarships and doing odd jobs on the weekends, feels like a speck of dirt. Logically, she knows she’s not. She  _ knows _ she’s proved herself — being signed to one of the best ballet companies in the country, being promoted to soloist in record time, being chosen to dance one of the most sought-after parts in the upcoming show — but still, she feels like...nothing. 

Rey looks at Ben. Finally,  _ finally _ , she gets it. He’s a Skywalker, not by name but by blood, and he must hate that she’s here, being mentored by his mother and uncle, in his grandfather’s prestigious company, wearing a thrift store leotard. He probably thinks she’s just some unworthy kid, a charity-case, that she isn’t talented, doesn’t deserve all the attention she’s been given. Does he know about her past? About all the foster homes, about sleeping through ballet lessons as a teenager because she was too exhausted from doing Plutt’s chores, about the fact that she showed up to the company audition late because she missed the bus and didn’t have enough cash for a cab? That she barely has enough money to buy food and pay rent in the same week? 

Does he think that if he ignores her hard enough, bullies and critiques her enough, that she’ll leave and stop sullying his family’s company and their shiny reputation, or something?

Overwhelmed, Rey struggles to breathe. Her vision swims, the walls start to close in, and before she realizes what’s happening, the floor surges up to meet her. Right before she faints, she feels someone catch her, lift her up, cradle her against their chest. And then everything is black.

***

Brown eyes. It’s a nice brown, Rey decides, not at all the flat, muddy color one might expect. These eyes are warm, almost honey-colored, with little flecks of gold near the pupil, fading out to near-black at the edge of the iris. Half-awake, she lets herself get lost in them. Then the eyes blink, and Rey realizes, she  _ remembers _ —

She bolts upright in the chair, startling Ben. He’d been leaning over her and has to jerk backward so that their foreheads don’t collide. 

“Where — ?”

“My mom’s office. She and Luke dismissed the others and are closing up the studio for an early lunch. They’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Bloody hell,” Rey rubs her tired eyes. “Did I really faint?”

Ben sits on the corner of the desk, watching her. His lips twitch. “Yes.”

Rey sighs, slouching back down in the desk chair, wishing a black hole would just open up and swallow her whole. Not only has she embarrassed herself in front of her peers and her idols/mentors and her crush/enemy, but Rey’s wasted half a day of practice time. With only weeks until the show, that’s valuable time she can’t afford to lose. 

Derailing her moping, Ben holds a protein bar out towards her. “You should eat. Did you have breakfast?”

Insulted, Rey bristles. “I’m not one of those anorexic ballerinas. Of course I had breakfast.”

“I wasn’t trying to insinuate —”

“Rey! Are you alright?” Luke enters the office, his twin right behind him. 

Ben backs up quickly as his mother and uncle move to stand by Rey.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Probably just tired,”  _ of your nephew, _ “but I’m okay now. Promise.”

“Good,” Luke nods. “Because Leia and I want to buy you lunch if you don’t already have plans.”

Rey bites her lip. God, no wonder Ben doesn’t like her. It probably seems like she’s mooching off his family. 

“No, that’s alright. You already did last week and—”

“Nonsense! We’d love to have you,” Leia interrupts, then turns her head. She gives her only son a very pointed look, eyebrows raised. “Right, Ben?”

He’s looking out the window at the city skyline, knuckles white as he crushes both hands into fists. “Yes,” he replies, after a moment of hesitation. 

Rey tucks a stray piece of hair that’s escaped from her bun behind her ear. “Oh, are you…?”

“Hux and Phasma are busy, so…yeah.”  _ I’m stuck with you _ , Ben doesn’t say, but Rey gets the message. 

“Right. Well, I’ll just get my stuff from the dressing room and meet you guys in the lobby.”

The other dancers are already gone, eager to make use of every second of their early lunch break, and the hallways are eerily quiet as Rey heads to get changed. In the dressing room, Rey opens her locker, throws on some street clothes, then pulls her purse out of her dance bag. Her cell phone has a text message from Finn, her roommate, just checking up on her. She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t want to lie to him, tell him her day’s been great when it’s so totally  _ not _ been, but if she tells her best friend that she fainted, he’d probably run all the way here just to make sure she’s alright. And Rey loves him for that, but she already has enough to deal with. She’ll tell Finn, and probably his new girlfriend too, the whole crazy story later.

Rey’s stomach growls. Shoving her phone back in her purse, she clicks the lock shut on her locker and heads down the hall to the lobby. She hears voices before she sees them.

“—not ready to do the  _ pas de deux _ with me. She’s only a soloist, and you just promoted her out of the  _ corps _ , so she’s barely even that. It’s too much pressure. You should give the part to a principal dancer.”

Ben’s voice, even from a distance, is unmistakable. 

A hot ball of shame and rage swells in Rey’s chest. She charges the rest of the way down the hall, not giving either Skywalker twin a chance to respond to Ben’s rude remark about her dancing abilities. The three turn in her direction once she enters the lobby, but Rey doesn’t give them a chance to talk before she quickly explains, “I’m not feeling well. I don’t think—I don’t think I should join you all for lunch. I’m just gonna stay here and find someplace to lay down.”

She forces herself to not look at Ben, but she can feel the weight of his gaze, and Rey hates how painfully aware of him she is. 

Leia’s brow crinkles with worry. “Honey, are you sick? Do you want Ben to drive you home?”

“No!” She definitely doesn’t want him to see her shitty apartment, and she certainly isn’t going to lose any more rehearsal time, not when her skills are already being questioned. “I mean, um, I’m fine just...not hungry. It’s okay, really. You guys go. Thank you for the offer.”

Rey gives Leia and Luke a weak smile, hoping she doesn’t look as frazzled as she feels. She glances at Ben out of the corner of her eye to find him glaring at the floor like it personally offended him or something. Shouldn’t he be jumping for joy that she’s not coming to lunch with them now? God, she’s getting a headache.

She says goodbye once more to a confused Luke and a concerned Leia, nods once  in acknowledgment at Ben, before spinning on her heel and speed-walking all the way back down the hallway. Rey doesn’t want to sit in the empty dressing room by herself, so she goes to one of the smaller practice studios, plugs her phone into the speaker, and sheds her woes to the beat of the music.

***

Rey’s in the middle of doing a series of  _ grand battement _ kicks when she hears the studio door creak open. She can see him in the mirror leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching her. His street clothes are gone and he’s clad once again in black pants and a white t-shirt, his dark hair wild from the wind or from running his hands through it. 

“Before everyone comes back, we should practice the  _ pas de deux _ .”

She remembers his words from earlier in the lobby. Rey swallows around the anger in her throat. “I’m busy.”

She hears him sigh, but he doesn’t leave.

“You’re leaning too far over. Square your hips. And you’re sickling your left foot, just a little.”

She grinds her teeth so hard she’s surprised her jaw doesn’t break. Rey pauses in her kick to the back, showcasing her  _ arabesque.  _ “See? My form is fine.”

Ben frowns. “Of course it’s fine. It’s very good, actually. But it could be better.”

In the mirror, she watches him approach. Her heart skips a beat and starts to thunder in her chest when he places his large hands on her hips. She hasn’t put her leotard back on from changing earlier, she’s still in her tank top and athletic shorts, and Rey can feel the heat of his hand as his thumb brushes the exposed strip of skin between the hem of her top and the waistband of her shorts. In one slow movement, Ben tilts her hips a fraction of an inch, making them settle more even over her center. To her surprise, the position allows her to lift her leg higher. 

Breathless, she lowers her leg, and then they’re just standing there, his hands still on her. She wants to melt back into him, feel the muscles of his abdomen against her back, but she steps away because...because…

Rey turns to face him. “Why did you do that?”

“I was helping.”

She takes another step back, suddenly furious for a reason she can’t explain. “Well, I don’t need your help! You think you’re so much better than me, you think I need your pity or — ?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? All I’ve done since you’ve been here is try and make things easier for you.”

“Liar! All you do is make things harder and...and more confusing! And I hate it. I  _ hate _ you!”

So much for polite and professional. 

Ben looks a little bit stunned at her outburst and kind of...hurt. Nausea churns her stomach. Rey loathes that look on his face. She’s never seen it before, never seen anything affect him like this. He’s always so arrogant and serious all the time, never caring what anyone thinks, seemingly larger than life and above all of it. Above her. All this time she’s thought he was untouchable, that someone like her could never hurt someone like him. Has she been wrong? _ Shit _ .

“Ben, wait —”

But he’s gone.

***

The rest of rehearsal is tense between them, to say the least. Things are different, Rey notices. Ben is different. He doesn’t comment on her dancing, doesn’t give her those intense looks anymore, and he’s surlier than usual. But this is what she wanted, right? For him to leave her alone, stop picking on her?

Yet, for some reason, it doesn’t sit well with her, this change. Rey recalls what he said about trying to help her, and it makes her ache, a little. Has she misjudged everything? Misjudged him? On the other hand, maybe his excuse for his behavior was just that, an excuse, and he really does hate her, or at least is repulsed by her being near him enough to try and convince his mom and uncle to take the  _ pas de deux  _ away from her. But then why, when she’d said those things to him in the small studio, did he look like she’d kicked his puppy?

Ugh. Whatever the deal is, Ben Solo is completely infuriating.

At the end of the day, Rey is sore and cranky, her ankle giving a slight twinge from when she’d landed weirdly after a  _ grand jeté _ —“You’re locking your knees on the descent. Utilize the  _ plié _ ,” Ben might have told her before the encounter during lunch, but he’d said nothing. Just silence. 

Leia and Luke dismiss the dancers and Ben is the first one out the studio door. For a big man, he can move fast. After watching him dance, Rey knows this, but he really seems like he’s in a hurry. Probably to get away from her. She sighs, gathers her water bottle and sweat towel, and goes to get her bags from the girls dressing room.

***

“It’s just so awkward,” Rey tells Finn, sliding another piece of chicken onto her plate. 

“I thought you said it was awkward between you two before?”

She frowns, staring at her food. “Well, it’s more awkward now, okay?”

“What did you think was gonna happen?” Finn shrugs, pausing to stuff some mac-n-cheese into his mouth. “He’s an entitled asshole and you called him on his bullshit. Did you think he would apologize and you’d become besties?”

Rey eyes his cheesy pasta with envy, the veg and protein on her own plate looking less appealing by the minute. She sighs. She’s told Finn what happened between her and Ben, but, not sure how to phrase it, Rey hasn’t said how guilty she feels for being so harsh.

“How do you know he’s an asshole? You’ve never even met him.”

Finn gives her a ‘duh’ look. “Oh, come on. You talk about him all the time. How mean he is to you.”

“All the time? No, I don’t.”

“You definitely do.”

Rey stabs at her slice of chicken. “He just frustrates me, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I’ve kinda picked up on that,” Finn responds, rolling his eyes. “Look, Rey, he’s your coworker. You guys don’t have to be friends. He can hate you all he wants, and vice versa, but he shouldn’t bully you in front of everyone.”

“Maybe, in some twisted way, he thinks he’s helping?”

“Well, that’s stupid — ”

“And I don’t. Hate him,” Rey mumbles. She takes a gulp of water, but she can practically  _ feel _ Finn frowning. 

Silence fills the nook, the little corner of their kitchen they’ve carved out as a dining area. For several moments, it’s so quiet that she can hear the neighbors across the hall watching TV. 

“I thought you were over that months ago. Like, when you met him and he turned out to be the worst.”

She blinks. “What?”

Finn leans back in his chair, eyebrows raised in disbelief. An incredulous smirk flits over his mouth. “You still have a crush on him.”

Rey jolts so bad she almost falls out of her chair. “ _ No, I don’t, Finn! _ ”

“Do too. You masochist.”

“Do not!

“Don’t what?” Rose asks, shutting the front door. Rey’d been so distracted with Finn’s outrageous accusation that she hadn’t even heard her open it and come in. 

“Nothing,” Rey announces loudly, kicking Finn under the table. 

Her oldest friend snorts, shakes his head, but goes to greet his girlfriend and doesn’t bring up the situation again. 

Later that night, Rey tosses and turns, and the scorching memory of Ben’s fingertips lingering on her waist keeps her from the bliss of sleep. 


	2. Deux

The next day, Ben doesn’t show up. 

They have regular company class in the morning, then afternoon rehearsal stretching into the evening. Usually, Rey loves days when they have normal class along with practicing for the show — even though such a busy schedule is harder on her tired muscles — but today she can find no joy in the familiarity of the ballet combinations. Because Ben’s not here.

It would be vain and childish to think his absence has anything to do with her, but she can’t help herself. Rey repeats their last conversation over and over in her head all throughout class, so many times that the memory gets distorted and muddled.

_ “I was helping.” _

_ “Well, I don’t need your help!” _

_ “All I’ve done since you’ve been here is try and make things easier for you.” _

_ “Liar! I hate you!” _

Had he really looked so wounded? Surely not. Surely she imagined it. Then why the hell isn’t he here? 

And what was up with the conversation she’d overheard?

_ “—not ready to do the pas de deux with me. She’s only a soloist, and you just promoted her out of the corps, so she’s barely even that. It’s too much pressure. You should give the part to a principal dancer.” _

That was low, even for him. Or, maybe not. Ben Solo is notoriously hostile and hard to work with. At performances, Rey’s heard the crew backstage grumble about him, and she’s witnessed the  _ corps _ trading rumors about his combativeness, and she’s read the reviews, how the critics praise his grace onstage just as much as they write scathing remarks about his anti-social tendencies. Cold and aloof, some writer in a magazine had called him once. But that’s so far from the man he is when dancing, the man that she’s fallen _ — _ er, developed a crush on. On stage, there is a flare in his movements, a spark in his eye, the frown and animosity melting off his face to be replaced by a serene and dazzling smile. Rey remembers the first time she ever saw him, the way the whole audience had faded away, the other dancers too, and it seemed like it was only him, magnificent and  _ electric _ . She’d assumed then, twelve and naive, that he would be like that in real life too, as likable and charismatic. 

She’d been wrong, of course. But that isn’t Ben’s fault, that he can’t live up to this picture people paint of him in their heads as the charming male lead. It must be hard, so many expectations, so many eyes on him as the youngest member of such a famous family. Just because Leia and Luke love to be in the public eye doesn’t mean Ben does. Maybe he hates all the attention, always being compared to his grandfather. Rey’s strong, but even she would probably crumble under all that weight. Maybe his “cool and aloof” thing is to try and prevent that, a coping mechanism. Maybe it’s all an act. Maybe he’s human, just like her. Maybe _ — _

There are so many maybes. She doesn’t know him at all, and she shouldn’t judge him for his behavior. Rey’s certainly done things in her life that she’s not proud of, done unconventional things to cope, and just because the Skywalkers seem perfect doesn’t mean they are. That he is. She’s unfairly assumed a lot of things about Ben's life, and look where it’s got her. 

Ugh. She’s got to apologize, huh? She hates it when she has to do that. 

***

He shows up to rehearsal. Rey figured he would, it’s mandatory and all, but she’s never quite sure of anything when it comes to Ben Solo. Still, even though she knew he’d come, Rey’s not ready for it, the way her body hums just from being in the same room as him. 

To her complete surprise, the second after he walks through the studio door, Ben meets her gaze. And holds it. It’s one of  _ those _ looks, with heat and an unmistakable implied  _ something _ , and then his face softens just a little, the corner of his mouth curving up into an almost-smile, and all the air goes out of her lungs. She kind of wishes he would glare at her or something, because this, one positive interaction with the object of her childhood fantasies, feels like enough to set her on fire. 

God, she’s pathetic. And isn’t there something that has to be addressed between them? Oh, right.

Rey stands up from where she’s been stretching, squares her shoulders, and begins to make her way over to him. He’s standing on the other side of the room, near Hux, who sneers at her approach, and Phasma, who totally ignores her. But the two of them can’t deter her; Rey has laser-focus on Ben. He’s watching her make her way to him, the half-smile from before wavering with uncertainty, his chest rising and falling like he’s taking deep, calming breaths. It confuses her further. What does he have to be wary of? He’s twice the size of her in every way. So why is he always on-edge around her? If maybe, like she’s hypothesized, he doesn’t hate her as much as she thought, then what’s his deal?

She’s almost to him when Leia calls for the group's attention, starting rehearsal a few minutes early, and Rey fights the irrational urge to scream. 

They run through the finale a few times, an hour which goes by excruciatingly slow for Rey, and then Leia breaks the company off to practice different sections. She takes the  _ corps _  to a different studio and Luke, clad in a bathrobe, takes some of the more advanced dancers to the small studio across the hall to run through their solos. Before Rey really knows what’s happening, she’s suddenly alone with Ben.

She should talk to him, which is what she wanted to do so desperately earlier, but now that he’s staring at her, so close she could touch him if she reached out her hand, she can’t think of a single thing to say. 

“Should we...the  _ pas de deux _ ?”

Rey swallows. “Right. Of course. S-sorry.” A beat of silence. “About everything, I mean.”

He nods hesitantly. “It’s alright.”

The words come out of her mouth in a rush. “No, it’s not. That was totally unprofessional yesterday and...and I should have just come to you and explained, months ago, that the way you pick at my dancing makes me upset.”

Ben shifts, running a hand through his hair. “I was out of line, but I hope you know that I was honestly trying to help you. Tough love was how I learned ballet and I just thought I’d...help teach you, or something. Make you better than you already are. But that’s not my job. I’m sorry.”

“Tough love? Leia doesn’t do that.”

“My mom didn’t teach me growing up. A man named Snoke did, at an academy in London. He was...harsh.” Eyes unfocused, he was looking at something over her shoulder, into the past.

She clears her throat, crossing her arms over her leotard. “And you thought it would be a good idea to use those tactics on me because…?”

Ben snaps back to the present, and the haunted look on his face makes her shiver. He sighs, looking exhausted and older than his years. “I am sorry if I’ve upset you, but you need to have thick skin in ballet. People in this business are cruel. Much crueler than I. Trust me.”

She finds herself stepping closer to him, drawn into his orbit. “I know. It’s just...it’s different when it’s from you. It means more to me.”

He looks down at her. His dark hair looks black in the hazy afternoon sunlight streaming through the tall window behind him, bursts of pink blooming in his pale cheeks, his eyes that incredible shade of brown she’d examined at length only the previous day. “Why?”

_ Because I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve. _

Unable to form another answer, she turns the question on him. “Why am I the only one you wanted to help teach?”

“I…” he trails off, licking his lips, letting out a sigh. “It’s complicated, Rey. I’m not good with words—I always get everything all wrong, as you probably already know. That’s why I like dancing.”

Letting it go for now, Rey smiles. “Then let's dance.”

***

As the day ends, Rey feels like she’s floating on a cloud. Her body feels the strain from hours of continuous dancing, a bone-deep tired that signals a good work-out, but she barely feels it, barely can think of anything but Ben. After their chat, he’s been overly nice to her, trying to make up for his previous behavior in his own awkward and endearing way, and the way he stands near her now, lets his touch linger on her skin, makes eye contact instead of looking anywhere but at her, makes these little jokes under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear, only her — it makes her wild. Stage-Ben is tantalizing and captivating, but this Ben, real Ben, soft and vulnerable and trying his best to be friendly, makes her dizzy and breathless. 

All at once, it feels like the cork on her emotions has disintegrated and all these fully-fledged feelings Rey’s been trying to repress come bubbling to the surface. Sure, she’d liked him before, but now…

“Hi,” Ben says, and she realizes they’ve been standing, staring at each other, for several seconds.

Rey’s cheeks grow hot. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear as a gust of wind finds its way between the buildings and blows down the narrow street. She watches in fascination as Ben’s dark hair falls across his forehead in an unruly mess. Her fingers itch to embed themselves in his mane, feel the texture between the pads of her thumb and forefinger, find out if it’s really as silky as it looks. Rey wonders what conditioner he uses. Probably something ridiculously expensive or —

“Are you waiting for a cab?” Ben asks.

She shuffles her feet on the sidewalk, fiddling with the strap of her dance bag as it hangs over her shoulder. She jabs her thumb at the sign behind her. Usually, she’s grateful that the bus stop is right next to the Skywalker Ballet Company building, but now she’s just embarrassed. “Um, no. The bus.”

Ben nods. Rey’s surprised he’s here; she thought he’d left twenty minutes ago when rehearsal had ended, but he must have been up in the offices or something, helping his mother. She decides to voice the question.

He shrugs. “I always take my time, try and let everyone else go before me. People linger in the lobby to talk sometimes and I don’t really like crowds.”

Thinking of Hux and Phasma, Rey says, “Your friends must find that frustrating.”

He looks away. “I don’t really have a lot of friends. Or any.”

“But you seem like you'd be the life of the party!” Rey teases him, grinning.

His dark eyes flicker over her face, and then he huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, not really. You’d think with my parents, with my family, I would...yeah.” Clearly uncomfortable, he tries to change the subject. “How much longer do you have to wait? For the bus, I mean.”

Rey looks over her shoulder, but the hulking white bus is nowhere in sight.

“It’s usually here by now. Sometimes it gets delayed though if there’s traffic downtown or whatever, so who knows.”

“Do you want — I mean, if you’d rather wait I understand — but my car’s right over there and I could drive you.”

Her stomach flips. “You don’t have to do that…”

“Why not? Giving each other a ride when the bus is late, seems like something friends do. Right?”

Ben’s looking at her in that intense way of his, and she wishes she knew what he was thinking. Friends. Okay, she can do this. She can be his friend. She can lust after him from afar and then act indifferent when they’re together. Totally. 

“Yes,” she replies slowly. “And that’s what we are. Friends.”

Tension that she hadn’t even realize had hardened his face disappears and then he is smiling at her, crooked and wonderful, and her heart literally stops beating. 

“This way.”

He leads her to his sleek black car parked in one of the few reserved spaces behind the building, opening the passenger door for her like they’re in a period drama or something, before getting behind the wheel. Both of their dance bags are sitting in the backseat, and Rey isn’t sure why, but the sight of them, her blue one and his black one, side-by-side, is so intimate. She pinches her inner arm to snap out of it. She isn’t a schoolgirl anymore, why is she acting like one?

“Where to?” he asks, pulling out of the small parking lot.

Rey goes rigid. Crap, now he’s gonna see her shitty apartment building and judge her—or maybe not. She’s been wrong about him so far, and it’s not exactly like she can get out of the ride now, so she rattles off her address and grips the leather seat with both hands. 

She glances at the clock. Finn will be back from work, but hopefully he isn’t at the apartment. Hopefully, he’s at Rose’s or Poe’s or the coffee shop he likes to write in. Because if he sees her with Ben after all her protests during dinner she’s  _ never _ going to hear the end of it. Chewing her lip, Rey tries to relax. 

Ben’s fiddling with the radio, his long fingers spinning the dial. Rey’s never been in such a new car before, and the dashboard full of controls and blinking buttons kind of reminds her of a spaceship. Finally, he finds an oldies station that he likes and turns up the volume, Frank Sinatra’s deep voice filling the car. She’s reminded again of the way he’d opened the car door for her, the strange old-fashioned mannerism that oddly fit him. He is, after all, a strange man. It seems to Rey that Ben, with his ivory skin and shoulder-length mane of dark hair, his pink lips and strong nose and smoldering brown eyes, is out of place with modernity. He seems like someone you’d see in an old medieval portrait, a painting in a museum, someone from long ago, ancient, a time of knights and kings. He looks like someone who should hold a sword. 

It’s evident, when seeing him against the high-tech car among the busy streets of the city, that in some essential way, Ben Solo doesn’t belong. It’s not an insult to him. In fact, it makes Rey want to lock the doors and never let him out of her sight. She too has always felt like she doesn’t belong. Has always felt alone, in a way that Finn and Rose and none of her friends could ever understand. 

“I saw you in The Nutcracker when I was twelve,” Rey blurts out. 

Ben turns down the music a few notches.  _ Strangers in the Night _ lowers to a faint hum in the background.

“Did I fall?”

She blinks, and a weird, strangled laugh escapes her throat. “No. You were amazing.” Then, realizing she might have made an unintentional dig at him, Rey continues, “Then and now. You still are.”

Rey’s looking straight ahead, but she can feel him glance over at her. His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “That means a lot. Coming from you.” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

She isn’t prepared for the little splinter of anger that pierces her chest. Rey swivels in her seat to look at him, the belt cutting into her shoulder. “From me? I thought I was _ just _ a soloist?”

He sighs, slowing the car to stop at an intersection. The glare from the traffic splashes them both in a faint red glow.

“Heard that, huh?”

“Of course. Why else would I bail on lunch?”

“I thought it was because of me.”

Rey throws her hands up. “It  _ was _ because of you! Because you said those things about me!”

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Right.”

She has no idea what to make of that. His expression is closed off, his body angled slightly away from her now, and God, Rey just wants to be home in bed where she can sleep and forget Ben Solo exists. 

The sky, blue and clear earlier, is starting to be filled with plump stormclouds. What a fitting metaphor for her mood. Rey watches, head leaning on the car window, as the first raindrops splatter onto the pavement.

The light turns green and Ben wastes no time in speeding down the street. He clearly can’t wait to be rid of her, probably regretting ever taking pity on her at the bus stop in the first place. Friends. Rey closes her eyes. They’re supposed to be friends now, and she’s messed it all up. Or maybe he has? Maybe they both have, maybe it’s not their fault; maybe they’re just not suited on some biological level to be near one another without causing a catastrophe. 

“Fuck,” Ben whispers, and he sounds angry, but not at her. “I’m doing this all wrong. Again.”

“No, this is the right way. My place is at the end of the street, on the right.”

He pulls up in front of her apartment building, jerking the car to a sudden stop. Neither of them moves.  For some reason, Ben’s breathing heavily, and Rey’s heart starts to thunder in her chest. 

“I told you I’m not good at having friends.”

Rey isn’t sure what suddenly makes her so bold, but she unbuckles her seatbelt, turning to face him. She stares him down. “Is that what you want us to be? Just friends?”

Ben swallows. The sky is grey now, and with minimal street lamps, his eyes look very dark. “You must know the answer to that. You must know how I feel about you if you heard what I said to my mom and Luke in the lobby yesterday.”

“I only heard the end. The part where you said I wasn’t ready for the  _ pas de deux _ , that they should give it to a principal dancer. Was...there something else important?”

He licks his lips. “Maybe you should go up—”

Rey reaches out and touches his arm. “No,” she demands. “Tell me.”

“I was worried about after you fainted,” Ben explains, staring down at her hand so he doesn’t have to look in her eyes. “I remember when I first started out and Snoke would push me, far past my limits—he made me dance on a broken foot, once, and I...I wanted to make sure that wasn’t happening to you. That you were okay. Which is none of my concern, I know that, but it’s vital to me that you’re okay.”

Her stomach lurches, his words spinning around her head. Rey scootches closer to him. “I’m okay. I promise,” she says, voice breathy and soft.

There’s something desperate about his face now, almost frantic, like he isn’t sure what to do. She makes the choice for them both. She closes the space between them, pressing her lips to his mouth. It’s chaste, but Ben lets out a groan in the back of his throat, shivering as he rests his forehead against hers. Rey rakes her fingers through his hair like she’s wanted to do for months, for years, forever, and smiles. After dancing with him all this time, she finally feels like they’re moving in sync.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not post a smutty epilogue to this fic. Let me know if that's something you guys would be interested in!


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